The Great Library of Palanthas

Astinus' Office

Dominating the center of this room is a massive birch desk. Legend claims this desk has supported the thousands of volumes of history Astinus has recorded. A large pot of ink, a container of sharpened quills, and a candelabra complete the desks decorations. Small windows line the room, allowing light to trickle in and gently illuminate the entire room. A comfortable couch rests against the west wall. Tapestries hang on the walls between the windows. Shelves line the walls, filled with tomes of the more recent records of heroes and villians upon the face of Krynn.

The librarian notices you aren't reading anything...
Astinus hands a small leaflet to an Aesthetic standing by you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Jellial' scribed in purple ink.
As you glance down at the page you read..

I was caught somewhere between the noonday sun and absolutely nothing in
Palanthas when I realized how incredibly bored I was. Counting the coins in
everyone else's pockets was getting to be as thrilling as picking my own
nose and my guildmaster had the sound advice that any solid thief of
reputable standing would have. "I don't know why are you bothering me with
this? Go steal something." My mother always said that one's destiny is only
forged by taking advantage of opportunity. So I took this g I was caught
somewhere between the noonday sun and absolutely nothing in Palanthas when I
realized how incredibly bored I was. Counting the coins in everyone else's
pockets was getting to be as thrilling as picking my own nose and my
guildmaster had the sound advice that any solid thief of reputable standing
would have. "I don't know why are you bothering me with this? Go steal
something." My mother always said that one's destiny is only forged by
taking advantage of opportunity. So I took this g I was caught somewhere
between the noonday sun and absolutely nothing in Palanthas when I realized
how incredibly bored I was. Counting the coins in everyone else's pockets
was getting to be as thrilling as picking my own nose and my guildmaster had
the sound advice that any solid thief of reputable standing would have.
"I don't know why are you bothering me with this? Go steal something."
My mother always said that one's destiny is only forged by taking advantage
of opportunity. So I took this golden opportunity from my guildmaster, gave
him a salute, and struck out on the open road. I heard Lemish had some
wealthy wizards.
Now, I don't know if anyone reading this knows how difficult it is to case a
wizard's stash, but usually the starting advice is to "Don't". If you're
like me however, that's just extra opportunity. Hell, that's like, double
extra special opportunity.
So, somewhere between noondayish and a busy street in Lemish, I caught
myself fingers deep in a wizards robe. Not many readers may know this, but
the inside of wizards robes are absolutely filthy. They smell like rotted
meat fermenting in saffron and beetlejuice and have the kind of consistency
that, admittedly, looks like silk, but feels like slimy burlap.
Upon inserting said digits into this lovely (See horrifying) woman's robes,
I found myself smaller, very small, and tinkling. Now, I don't mean pissing
down the street, not that I would, mind, but rather tinkling in the form of
the sound of a bell.
Soon, I found myself gazing up at some very very lovely red eyes (See
horrifying) of a elven woman's robes.
"Well little cat burglar, I guess we have ourselves a new precious to add to
the collection."
I scoffed indigently at her, giving my black furred paw a lick and push it
over my ear. I was a cat now, I could act as imperious as I wanted. She
picked me up, and took me home.
She named me Nibbles.
My mother always said that one's destiny is only forged by taking advantage
of opportunity. But what did she know she was an elven whore.
more to come when I can be bothered.

There were some real creative geniuses when it came to the naming of the
streets of Lemish. Onslaught Avenue, Legion Way, Spectre Street. All they
needed was a "We Are Clearly Evil And Could Not Be Bothered" Boulevard.
So I spent my following 2 to 3 weeks, I'm not really sure, there were a lot
of naps, following my new master around, doing her bidding, lounging,
licking myself, and attempting mischief and delight where I could.
Let's not forget, she wears black robes, has red eyes, looks like a harpies
sex aid, and named me Nibbles. Clearly she carries the blood of demons in
her shrivelled little blacked grape she calls a heart.
When she wasn't petting me, feeding me, treating me like some kind of king,
well deserved as it was, she was either sleeping or studying or tormenting
the lost souls of the damned as she put them through the rigours of
experimental magic.
Despite my selfish and narcissistic behaviour, I was always on edge during
these proceedings, she usually trapped me in a bubble of force, for my own
protection or so I couldn't interfere I was never sure.
So, it was something beyond my ken to stop her, but that didn't stop me
altogether from doing what I could. Beyond sleeping on a plush pillow, I
found myself amongst the streets of Lemish quite often. I had persuaded a
group of children not to throw rocks at me, and had befriended them.
Now, don't get me wrong, they weren't all sunshine eyes and white tooth
smiles. I like kids. But these kids could seriously get lost in a well and
eaten by cannibalistic gully dwarves. There was one good one though, his
name was Crandal.
Crandal was a big lad, the size and shape of a small Minotaur or a large
brown bear, with about the same amount of clarity of thought and mental
acuity you might expect, but he was as soft with his hands as he was hard
with his punches.
Crandal was my ace in the hole, none of them were quick on the uptake so
they usually considered me a some dumb cat. They all decided I'd be called
Sparky. You know, rather than something dignified.

Author: Jellial
Date: Fri Jul 3 20:15:29 2015
Subject At First I was Friendly Part 2

While these kids had the cumulative brain power, if in liquid format,
could probably fill something like a quarter flask. I myself, being the
master thief and judicial purveyor of wit that I was, managed to convince
Crandal I was something more than just a cat.
My first few attempts failed miserably. Trying to write "Hey Crandal, I'm
not a cat, I'm a Half Elf in cursed form," in the dirt, resulted in him
clapping and smiling and picking me up and petting my head and irritating me
beyond all human comprehension before I was sure pit fiends would be in awe
of my enraged train of thought.
Of course, the big lout couldn't read, a minor oversite on my part. I
rectified this later when he picked me up, by punching him in the face a
couple times with my paw till he was paying attention, pointed to my eyes,
then his, then nodded.
That got his attention a little more clearly, eventually I managed to work
out the simple fact that yes, I was a sentient magical cat. Fear me, I am
Nibbles.
So Eventually I started leading him around, showing him secret hidey holes
where I had sequestered spare gold or copper, directed him to people in
need, and eventually had him beat the hell out of the largest bully in his
group, and become their de factor leader.
Crandal was convinced I was a divine being sent by Habbakuk to lead him on
the path of Paladinhood. I had neither the inclination nor the ability to
correct him. For all I know he could've been right.
Eventually opportunity arose, and you know what they say about opportunity.
Destiny, forging, path, something, something, etc. The witch had put me out
this day, instead of putting me in a bubble, saying something about hellfire
and whatnot. I was too enraptured by this chance to do anything more than go
find Crandal, and get some sweet sweet payback.
Crandal had become something of a local hero to the downtrodden, the
dragonarmy wouldn't really bother too much with him, and they knew better
than to try to put him down because he was well, huge. Like, really huge.
The last time they tried to arrest him he suplexed one goblin into yet
another goblin. It was glorious.
So upon finding him, I meowed like a whiney bastard, led him to the house,
and let him bring down "The vile witch that had been plaguing these lands
for too long!" Or something.
She was a little too engrossed with running a dagger into her palm to more
than look up blankly before Crandal lopped her head off with one swipe. The
look of complete dumbfounded confusion in her lifeless eyes as it rolled
across the floor is still recalled by me when I have trouble sleeping at
night.
Crandal picked me up, carried me throughout the house as he put it to the
torch, and we bailed. I was still a cat, Crandal was probably morally
justified, and the wicked witch was dead. I call that about breaking even.

So picking up where I left off some weeks down the line. It was clear to
me that there are generally about four or five things you try not to do
within the city limits of Lemish. First off, generally forget everything you
know about cliche. Lemish wrote, published and sold the book on it.
The witches are evil, the priests wear black robes, the guards kick puppies
and the bards wish for happier times. You could basically paint a picture of
lemish and you wouldn't be able to think of anything other than "In a time
when we desperately needed a hero."
Which is immediately followed by the number two of "Do not repeat this crap
within Lemish." Which is, don't be a hero. That, upon, is followed by number
three, don't murder people in their homes and then burn their houses down.
No matter how ugly they are. Even the city of Lemish has it's laws. Sort
of.
That left me and Crandal in a bit of a tough spot, since a dozen or so
people saw him leave the burning building, yours truly in hand, who was
known as the old witch's pet. It couldn't really have gotten any deeper for
the giant warrior. He was really in the gully pile at this point, and if it
wasn't for me jumping out of his arms and leading him out of town, he'd be
swinging by his neck in the town square.
So, inevitably, he was living out of a cave somewhere off the outskirts of
the town, having chased the bears, actual bears, out of it, he nestled in
and started to think. Sadly, thinking was not Crandal's strong suit,
however, his divine avatar of Habbakuk who was leading him on the path of
paladinhood (see myself), was definitely the kind of man... cat, that could
come up with a plan on the fly. It didn't take long for me to evade
Crandal's peripheral vision, or vision, or awareness, since when the man
sleeps, he makes noises that would impress lumber mills, and was my cue to
leave. I quickly made it back in town, which was near in an uproar. I found
Crandal's boys easily enough, without their leader they were all terrified
of who was going to take the blame and with shared mutual fear of being
ratted out, were huddled together in a sort of glaring standoff to see who'd
leave first and no doubt be tackled from behind. The moment they saw me they
shouted, "It's Sparky! Hey! Maybe he knows where Crandal is!" Gods bless
those stupid, stupid children. I wasted no time leading them up and through
the city where they could witness firsthand the turmoil going throughout,
making sure to take a circuitous route so even the dimmest would realize the
folly of turning on my chosen champion.
Eventually, we made it to the cave, whereupon his posse fell on Crandal like
a gaggle of loss sheep to a Shepard. Now, despite my criticism of the man,
he was actually a quite capable leader. After a moment of two of consolation
and quite thanks and greetings, he got them lined up with barking orders,
had them all discussing plans and doing maths and whatever it is little kids
do when they think they are going to live through the night.
As for me, well, I was 45. I knew better. The gaurds weren't going to just
wait around the town of Lemish. I scooted out under the cover of the
conversation, heading back into the town to discover hunting dogs already
heading to the cavesite. This gave me more than an amount of pause. I didn't
want them hurt, but beyond that there was little I could do.
So I headed further into the city itself, scampering from alley to rooftop,
watching the gate like a... cat, patient and unblinking until the whole
crew, minus a few guards and kids each, were dragged in by their legs,
clearly unconscious.
A shock of blond hair proved that my protege, while not unharmed, was at
least alive. At first, I was coming up with new and intricate, possibly even
revolutionary ways of picking a lock on a cell door with no fingers. Barring
that, stealing the keys and carrying them over in my mouth like the loyal
sort of elf I am.

However, and this was the fourth thing I found out about Lemish that I
promised I'd never repeat, which is actually surmountable given my
profession, is that they actually do not, keep you overnight for murder and
arson, or even petty crime. No, they drag you into town square, and let the
executioner have his fun, and the citizens get a show.
So I was there, climbing down, winding my way through the crowd as the
executioner listed crimes, grievances, personal anecdotes, really he was
actually very well put together and had a natural talent for crowd working
and showmanship.
As if possessed of some great inner strength, and a heavy helping of actual
physical outer strength, Crandal let out a huge scream, and rent the wood on
his stockade. The executioner, as if he had somehow knew this would happen
by script, turned around, extending his hand, which, unfortunately, was
grasping a wand.
That day, I was unaware of three facts. One, the city of Lemish routinely
employs magic users as executioners. Two, wands of polymorph are a thing.
And three, I apparently always land on my feet.
So I leaped from the crowd into the ray's blast, turned from once gorgeous
cat to even more gorgeous, sexy, intelligent, well endowed, and vibrant man,
and indeed, landed on my feet.
There was a long, possibly about 5 or 6 seconds of entirely stunned silence,
which was followed by a small furtive smile to Crandal, and the words,
spoken fluently with a real mouth. "RUN AWAY!"
With that, me and my young friend barrelled our way through the crowd, down
some streets, out the closing gates, and into what would no doubt be amazing
amiable mutual profit.

Author: Jellial
Date: Tue Jul 7 01:43:24 2015
Subject Bad Kitty

What most people don't know about the kapak of the red dragon army is
that their coats are incredibly comfortable, roomy, and they breathe
exceptionally well when you're standing somewhere outside the city of
Palanthas in the sun waiting for the right type of mage to come buy.
Mostly, I've gotten into the habit of robbing from mages, they are weak,
slow, and tend to be incredibly susceptible to being pushed down, having
dirt kicked in their face and then robbed blind.
I'd like to point out that this was my second attempt at robbing a mage, and
we all remember how that first attempt went.
So there I was, standing off to the side of the road in stolen uniforms with
my loyal probee Crandal, who had learned some very important lessons in
life.
"So, why are we standing out here again?"
"Crandal, what is the first rule of being a paladin of Habbakuk?"
"Don't ask questions?"
"You got it, now get down, someone is coming."
My stomach initially turned at the sight of yet another caster, my life
seems to be absolutely plagued by them, not that that isn't sort of kinda my
own fault.
I stepped out of the shadows of the foliage, feeling like I was wearing doom
itself on my shoulders and shouted, "Halt! In the name of the Emperor!"
Sadly, this particularly brilliant and well thought out fear tactic only
illicited a response familiar to me, a spell called lightning bolt.
So, I hit her with my cosh, because honestly, screw that noise.

Author: Jellial
Date: Wed Jul 8 03:57:16 2015
Subject Bad Kitty Pt.2

Have you ever been at that point in life where you're being hit by a
lightning bolt and fleeing into an alley, sprinting as fast as you can while
stripping your stolen disguise like man dressed in burning clothes? I was
about at that point right now.
I was spun on my heels by the force of the blow, turning and blinking the
wrath of the very elements out of my eyes. I streaked down the alley to my
right, hearing fleeing footsteps up ahead, which was just lovely. I ducked
into the shadows like a black cat going down a dark hallway and pulled the
protege in by his beefy wrist.
I put a hand over his mouth as I watched the young woman report my
particular sort of kinda maybe wrongdoing and sent the guard down the road I
had just fled from like a naked Solamnic during draconian bath night.
Using the ears I was born with and the senses that'd put lesser men to
shame, which would be most of them, I watched as the girl took down the
completely inebriated warrior, and fled yet again.
The night at least wasn't a total wash, as the man had some lovely shoes and
a few coins and a complete lack of conciousness which was too ethereal to
take. However, everything else was free gain.
So, after about an hour later I was catching my breath somewhere inside a
corn field south of Palanthas, Crandal to my left, looking worried. He
always looks worried lately, like he wants to say something but is unsure
he'd like the answer. Not sure what's wrong with the lad.

Author: Jellial
Date: Wed Jul 8 04:09:17 2015
Subject Bad Kitty Pt.3

I leaned back on my own boots, the new shiny expensive ones tucked away
somewhere in Crandal's backpack. The sun was beating down on my neck like
the evil red gaze of some hithertoo and inevitable horrible deathbeast.
"Why did we attack that woman? Why are we taking this man's shoes? I don't
think I understand, Jellial," cam Crandal's worries. Bless his heart.
"Because my fine man!" I stated simply with an easy smile as I threw my arm
around him. "It's in our inevitable experience in the service of Habbakuk
that we do, and be, within the dominion of personal purveyance and gain.
Ergo, we took his boots. He had plenty of money and would no doubt have
more, enough to buy some more boots. In the end, we did nothing wrong." "I
don't know..."
"Well, no..."
"And I always know what I'm talking about."
"Well, yes..."
"So off to Solanthus we go! Keep up now!" I started, jogging away on
slippery morality like I do it every day.
Hint: I do.

Author: Jellial
Date: Wed Jul 8 16:27:58 2015
Subject Bad Kitty Pt.3

I leaned back on my own boots, the new shiny expensive ones tucked away
somewhere in Crandal's backpack. The sun was beating down on my neck like
the evil red gaze of some hithertoo and inevitable horrible deathbeast.
"Why did we attack that woman? Why are we taking this man's shoes? I don't
think I understand, Jellial," cam Crandal's worries. Bless his heart.
"Because my fine man!" I stated simply with an easy smile as I threw my arm
around him. "It's in our inevitable experience in the service of Habbakuk
that we do, and be, within the dominion of personal purveyance and gain.
Ergo, we took his boots. He had plenty of money and would no doubt have
more, enough to buy some more boots. In the end, we did nothing wrong."
"I don't know..."
"Have I ever steered you wrong?"
"Well, no..."
"And I always know what I'm talking about."
"Well, yes..."
"So off to Solanthus we go! Keep up now!" I started, jogging away on
slippery morality like I do it every day.
Hint: I do.

"You know what I hate?"
"What do you hate, Jellial?"
"I hate those types of stories where there is like, a ton of expository
narrative and very little dialogue."
"You can read?"
I smacked him on top of his brown nappy head from my perch on his shoulders
as he trudged down the Solanthus streets in the noonday sun. The rays of the
bright orb burning his muscular thews as I leaned forward till I was eye to
eye with him, albeit upsidedown.
"Of course I can read. In fact, I'll be writing all the exploits of your
heroic deeds down one day, and compile them into one big frickin book."
His young eyes lit up with glee, the kind of glee you can only get when
someone sort of kinda maybe lies to you about all your dreams coming true.
He pushed his way into a bar as we continued to talk about the pending
heroic deeds, me clambering down off of him like he was a wall of vines
instead of nigh 7 feet of human flesh, as the table sailed past us, crashing
into the side of the wall with enough force for someone to probably want to
lodge a complaint with the guard.
Being the wise and opportunist entrepreneur I was, I ducked out from my
large friend, who drew his, well, -fists- in the name of Habbakuk and joined
the fray. I popped up somewhere near some green woman and that man who's
shoes I stole not too long ago. Opportunity, meet destiny.
The green woman looked like the type of chick who'd go long and far in her
own story about self righteousness, self discovery, and implied sexuality,
while the knightly looking fellow looked like he wanted to take her up on
the implied sexuality and make it into fully aggrieved and apparent
sexuality. Not for nothing, but I caught him staring at her chest the moment
I sat down next to them, or rather, popped up underneath the table and
placed the boots down.
"So," I began, turning to the drunk, or rather, the knight. "Would you be
interested in buying a new pair of boots?"

At this point in my career, I have robbed from the rich, the blind, the
addled, the downtrodden, the less dowtroddened, the depressed, and the
penniless. I find the last one in particular to be a major accomplishment,
as I have stolen from people with nothing to steal.
Except smiles... and teeth.
Of course, with my penchant for cunning plans, the skills that would put the
high lords of stealth to shame. May there names never be spoken, their
footsteps never heard. I find myself once again, at the doorstep of a mages
abode.
And not just any mage! Considering. I mean, he could have just been any
mage. I was literally throwing darts at a wall comprised of all the names of
mages I knew. To be terribly honest, there weren't that many.
So, staring down a red dragon army den, something that even the most bravest
of heroes would balk at, given they did not have my countance, charisma, or
aptitude for primal genius, I have found myself in the company of two kapak.
One, a very very unconcious man, a simple leg held out and he finds himself
tangled in his fancy robes, and fancy swords, and all the swearing. Okay, I
might have added a simple bash to the back of the head into the formula.
The other was simply dead. I don't know why, I didn't kill him. I assume he
died from all the children's hearts he has consumed, I hear they are awfully
fatty.
Either way, three locked doors, five gaurd dogs, one patrolling lanterman,
three winding staircases, tickling a maid as I passed by, I was standing
inside Lord Teagues study. One of his studies. Probably not even his study.
Who knows, I was just robbing the place.
It was absolutely beautiful, well designed, decadant, maybe my imagination
was making up at least three fourths of this description, I remembering
having to defacate so bad I was crossing my legs. But not from fear, hardly
that.
To my beweliderment, the study comprised itself of tricks and secret doors,
false levers, idle crawlspaces. For a man of my considerable talents, they
were all very easy to spot, easy to avoid, and after a few moments, I had a
well prized snuffer box with some nice embroidery, backtracking through
three locked doors, five gaurd dogs, one patrolling lanterman, three winding
staircases, and a giggling maid.
I like to consider myself something of a rake at times, and so I did leave
Teague a note, as I will read off to you now.
Ahem.
Dear Lord something something something Teague. I know you are a man of
considerable wealth, time, pateince, verbosity, wealth, aclimation,
acheivement, understanding, and wealth. I decided that, in the best interest
of man, we should share said attributes with the world, for the bettermeant
of all mortals. I do, leave unto you, my thanks, and goodwill, that your
understanding and caring nature has given this opportunity, so that orphans
can go fed, wrongs can be righted, and wenches can saunter w Dear Lord
something something something Teague. I know you are a man of considerable
wealth, time, pateince, verbosity, wealth, aclimation, acheivement,
understanding, and wealth. I decided that, in the best interest of man, we
should share said attributes with the world, for the bettermeant of all
mortals.
I do, leave unto you, my thanks, and goodwill, that your understanding and
caring nature has given this opportunity, so that orphans can go fed, wrongs
can be righted, and wenches can saunter without fear through the streets.
Sincerely, yours, The Freindly Neighborhood Cat
PS I like what you've done with the place. Interesting that it smells like
sex, though.
PPS Good for you though, getting up in years, it must be hard to find people
interested in that with you.
PPPS Also, I used your privy and I am ashamed to say that I could not for
the life of me figure out how to work it. You probably are smelling it at
this moment, I recommend sending in a few maids, or maybe a team.